


Prom Night

by orphan_account



Series: 30 Day Writing Prompt Challenge [1]
Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/M, girl!Andy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-02
Updated: 2014-03-02
Packaged: 2018-01-14 06:33:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1256380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt Mixon reflects on his friendship with Andrea Hurley.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prom Night

**Author's Note:**

> Day 1 of the 30 Day Writing Prompt Challenge - "Select a book at random in the room. Find a novel or short story, copy down the last sentence and use this line as the first line of your new story."
> 
> The first line of the story is the last line in the novel "Paper Towns" by John Green.
> 
> (Edit: I gave up on the challenge, obviously, but still, enjoy the Mixley.)

Yes, I can see her almost perfectly in this cracked darkness. Her dress clings to her body in almost all the right ways, but her face is carefully blank; creases along her forehead tell tales of stress, depression, and worry. She shifts uncomfortably and tucks her brown, perfectly mangled curls behind her ear. Her dark nail polish has chipped away almost completely. 

“School dances suck,” I say to her. She glances up at me and nods. 

“Yeah, they do,” she mumbles in response. Her gaze is directed at the floor, a glass of watered-down punch in her hand. 

“You look really nice tonight, Andrea.” I comment. 

“Thanks, Matt. You look nice, too. Handsome, even.” And there’s her wry grin. It reaches her eyes (a rarity that I’m glad to witness) and she laughs when I jokingly give her a soft punch to the shoulder. 

I mirror her grin. “Thanks, asshole.” 

“You’re welcome, dick.” 

The DJ starts playing a song--a slow song that Andrea and I call “our song”. It’s something we’ve only heard a million times on Top 40 Bullshit Radio. Neither of us would listen to this song willingly, but we know all of the words. 

She turns to me and stretches out her hand. I take it and she tugs me out to the dance floor. There are couples around us, holding each other tight and swaying side-to-side, enjoying the last, bittersweet moments they’ll have together before they’re separated by miles for school. I hold Andrea close and she snuffles into my dress shirt. I’m grateful that she won’t be far. 

“What are you doing after graduation?” I ask. 

She looks up at me. “I have band practice. Are you gonna come hang with us?” 

“Definitely,” I respond. 

When the song ends, we retreat back to our table and Andrea retrieves a hair tie from her clutch and pulls her hair back. I can’t help but focus on her movements, the way her muscles shift and her collar bones protrude. 

“We should bail and get something to eat. I’m fucking starving.” Andrea says. I nod dumbly. She gathers her things and I follow her out of the dance hall.

My friends ask me why I even bother. Andrea is tough, no-nonsense, and pretty fucking intense. They ask me why I bother to be friends with a girl I’m crazy over. I never know what to say to them. Because these moments with her--when we run through the rain to my car under the safety of my tuxedo jacket, her heels in her hand and a grin so bright; when we are soaked to the bone inside of a Chinese restaurant flinging baby corn at each other across the table; when we’re dancing to shitty Top 40 songs that we know all the words to--these moments feel indescribable, and even though she isn’t my girlfriend, she’s still my best friend, and she is my entire world.


End file.
